The moon once shone brightly on our lives,

But no more, 

Alzheimer’s in its chariot of destruction,

Has swept past,

And reduced what was,

To what now is.

We are shells of our former selves,

One with a brainbox,

Of creeping, vacuous blue

The other battling with uncertainties,

Never knowing what is around,

The next corner.

Switched as it were

From the straight and true,

Eyre Highway traversing the Nullarbor,

To the uncertainties,

Of the twisted, winding,

Raindrenched slipperiness,

Of the Karunda Road.

I am the uncertain driver,

An oft distrusting navigator,

Enveloped in penumbric gloom

Driving it seems blindly,

Into the darkness of uncertainty

Feeling the confidence 

Of someone entrapped,

In a boghole of shit.

The way I feel today